by Roberta Kray
Jo gazed at her, speechless.
Deborah wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘And then there was all the tidying up to do – and I don’t just mean the remains of the poor sod lying on the bed. Mitchell had intended to grab the rubies and run but Peter knew, even if they did manage to make it home, they wouldn’t get away with it. They might even be looking at a murder charge if the cause of Leonard’s death proved inconclusive. The only way out was to start flashing the cash, to try and buy a cover-up.’
‘And so that’s what Peter did,’ Jo said.
Deborah nodded. ‘Tony, as usual, was fuck-all use; he went to pieces, got hysterical and started crying like a baby. If it hadn’t been for Peter, they would have all gone down. It took some risky calls and a lot of hefty bribes to get the body out of the hotel room and safely disposed of.’
Jo understood now why Ruby had been so uptight. She also understood the source of Peter’s nightmares. If only he had told her, if only he had shared the horror, everything might have been different between them. Instead, he had turned to Deborah Hayes for comfort.
‘And Constance?’ Jo said softly. ‘What was she told?’
‘Only the bare minimum. That he’d taken ill suddenly and died of a fever. Peter had managed to acquire a forged death certificate and Mitchell spun her some line about how the authorities, not knowing the cause of the fever, had demanded a quick cremation. Constance didn’t know any better. She was in a foreign country and her English at the time wasn’t that good. She had no one to turn to, no close friends to go to for advice.’ Deborah paused and her mouth slid into a grimace. ‘Mitchell even presented her with some ashes a couple of weeks later, claiming he’d had them flown over from Burma. Constance had them interred in Kellston Cemetery.’ She gave a small hysterical laugh. ‘God knows who or what they were, probably the remains of someone’s Golden Labrador.’
Jo found that she was taking deep breaths, almost gulping for air. All she could see was Leonard Kearns lying prostrate on a hotel bed with his guts hanging out and … She squeezed shut her eyes, trying to block out the image that was already scorching itself on to her brain.
There was a silence in the room while the full force of the disclosure settled around them.
‘And so that’s it,’ Deborah said eventually. ‘The whole sordid story.’ Her fingers crept across the desk.
Jo’s eyes snapped open and she quickly slammed down her hand on top of the letters.
‘We’re not finished yet.’
‘But I’ve told you everything!’
‘Not quite. I want to know if any of this is connected to Peter’s death.’
Jo had expected a look of incredulity, an instant denial, but what Deborah provided instead was a small uncertain shrug.
‘I don’t know.’
‘So what are you saying, that you think …?’
Deborah’s forehead scrunched into a frown. Her fingers nervously rose up to her mouth again. Her eyes scanned the room and returned to the pile of letters. She stared at them with the greedy expression of a junkie desperate for a fix. They seemed to focus her mind. ‘All I know is that it was deliberate.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean the car went straight for him. He didn’t stand a chance.’
It took Jo a moment to absorb what she was saying before her heart started pumping again. She felt the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. ‘You were there, weren’t you? You were there when it happened!’
‘Not with him,’ Deborah said. She couldn’t quite meet Jo’s gaze. ‘I was in the flat. I was watching from the window.’
‘Before or after?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘You know what I mean,’ Jo said.
‘What does it matter?’
‘It matters to me.’
‘After,’ Deborah reluctantly admitted. ‘He was standing on the corner outside the flats.’ She bit down on her knuckle. ‘He was just about to cross the road. I only saw the car out of the corner of my eye. I couldn’t even tell you what colour it was – something dark, I think, green or blue. But it went straight for him. It seemed to slow, then it suddenly accelerated and went right up on the pavement.’
‘You … you were there,’ Jo repeated, her voice so strangulated she could hardly get the words out. ‘You witnessed the whole bloody thing and you didn’t go to the police!’
‘There was nothing I could have told them. I couldn’t see who was driving. It all happened so fast. I didn’t even notice what type of car it was.’
‘But you were there, you were a witness. You could have—’
Deborah quickly shook her head. ‘Done what? I couldn’t have told them any more than I’m telling you now. And what would that have achieved? And before you say it, yes, I was protecting myself, protecting Tom and the kids, but maybe just a little bit of me was protecting you too. I didn’t want you to find out about us that way, to—’
Jo thumped her fist down on the desk. ‘Don’t you even dare pretend that you were thinking of me! The only reason you kept quiet was to hide your own filthy little secret.’
Deborah drew back. ‘I know how angry you must feel but I have tried to tell you, over and over, that his death wasn’t an accident.’
‘Huh?’ Jo said confused. ‘And when exactly did you …’ She stopped mid-sentence as the answer suddenly occurred to her. ‘Oh God, you’re the one who’s been sending all those notes!’ She glanced down at the pile of letters in front of her and groaned. ‘I should have guessed.’
‘I just wanted you to keep asking questions, to do what I couldn’t do.’
‘No,’ Jo spat back, ‘to do what you were too cowardly to do. You didn’t mind lying on your back for him but you weren’t prepared to stand up and be counted when it really mattered.’
‘That’s not fair. I was just …’
‘Just what?’ Jo snarled.
Deborah bowed her head and wrapped her arms around her chest. ‘I’m sorry.’
Jo couldn’t bear to look at her any more. She couldn’t even bear to be in the same room.
She pushed the letters and the lease across the desk. ‘Here, take them. Take them and leave me alone.’
‘What are you—’
‘Just take them before I change my bloody mind!’
Deborah snatched up the pile and headed for the door. She opened it and looked back over her shoulder. ‘I’m not sure if you’re going to believe this but you really should – it was you Peter wanted the future with, not me. It was you he married. I was just … just someone to share the pain with.’
Jo stared at her, her dry lips sliding into a thin empty smile. ‘And I’m sure you had a damn good time sharing it.’
Chapter Sixty-eight
Jo had no memory of actually putting on her jacket, sliding on her sunglasses or of leaving the shop. She had a vague notion of having mumbled something to Jacob but couldn’t recall exactly what. It was only when she was halfway across the Green that she began to come to her senses. Immediately, thinking that she might be being watched, she looked up at the windows of the flat. They were blank and empty. Was that good or bad, she wondered? Then it occurred to her that she didn’t really care. There was only so much grief, so much bewilderment, that anyone could take and she had already reached her limit. Whatever was going on in there was between Gabe and Susan. She had never asked to be involved. They could sort it out between them.
As Jo reached the end of the Green, she glanced up at the windows again before crossing the road, walking up the drive, getting into the car and quietly closing the door behind her. She put the key in the ignition, wincing as the engine leapt into life. It was only as she was reversing out that she realised, with a tiny pang of conscience, that she had even stopped worrying about Silver Delaney.
Did that make her a bad person? The question hung in her mind as she accelerated too quickly along Barley Road. She passed a woman holding a toddler by his hand, a couple of teenagers and a big
man tugging on a cigarette. They registered on the very edge of her consciousness, were seen and dismissed. On reaching Kellston High Street, she wound her way aggressively through the traffic. She dodged and swerved and honked her horn. Usually she was the most polite of drivers but today she had no time for the normal courtesies.
Where was she going? She didn’t know. What was she doing? She wasn’t sure about that either. She was just driving, determinedly pushing forward. Her head was starting to spin. She was thinking about Leonard Kearns again, about Peter, about all the lousy mess in her life. She was thinking about why it had all happened, about what had been done and not done, and why she had been left with the impossible task of dealing with it all. Maybe she was in one of those dodgy stages that Buddhists believed in, one of those reincarnations where people who had done wrong were now paying for their sins. She certainly felt like she was being punished. The trouble was that if you didn’t know how you’d sinned, how were you supposed to correct it? And weren’t you supposed to come back as a lower form of life?
Then it occurred to her, as she took a sharp left, that perhaps humanity was the lowest form of life. There was no denying its cruelty, its ability to inflict deliberate pain. No species did unnecessary nastiness quite as effectively as the human race. Maybe the trick was not to work your way up from the scuttling insect life but to work your way down. Maybe the highest form of life was an ant or a bee or a butterfly.
Twenty minutes later, with her head still a jumble, Jo cruised into Canonbury. The first thing she noticed as she approached Ruby’s house was Carla’s distinctive Toyota parked out in the street. Jo pulled up behind it and killed the engine.
She frowned at the red car in front of her. What was Carla doing here? Passing on the good news possibly, about how Jo had agreed to keep her mouth shut about Mitchell’s illegal dealings. She wondered how much Carla really knew about Leonard Kearns and what had happened to him. Was her sister-in-law part of the cover-up too? Jo sighed and shook her head. No, she was just being paranoid. Carla was the one person she could trust in the Strong family.
Before she could think too much about what she was going to say, Jo got out of the car, locked it, and strode up the short path to the house. She rang the bell and waited. She was still waiting a minute later. If it hadn’t been for the presence of Carla’s car, she might have given up. Instead she pressed her finger against the button again, two sharp rings followed by a longer one.
There was another delay before she finally heard a faint scuffling behind the door. It was opened, although not widely, by Mrs Dark. She peered out through the gap.
‘Oh, Mrs Strong,’ she said without enthusiasm.
‘Hi,’ Jo said. ‘I’m here to see Ruby.’
‘Er, I’m afraid she’s not in. Perhaps you could …’
Whatever she’d been intending to say was cut short by the sound of raised voices in the background. The tone, if not the words, travelled down the hallway. Two people, two women, were having a row and it didn’t take a genius to work out who they were.
Jo pushed against the door and rudely forced her way in. ‘Sorry, but I’m afraid this can’t wait.’ As she strode quickly through the chill gloomy hall, she was aware of Mrs Dark scuttling behind. Turning, she looked her straight in the eye and said firmly: ‘I can find my own way, thank you.’
‘But …’ Mrs Dark hesitated, her eyes uneasy, but she gave a small brisk nod and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.
Jo followed the sound of the voices, the angry words gradually becoming more distinct as she approached the rear of the house. She was almost through the dining room, only a few feet from the conservatory, when she heard Carla say: ‘You know that’s not true!’
Ruby gave one of her familiar snorts. ‘I didn’t know it two years ago and I still don’t know it now. Just because you say it’s not true doesn’t mean I have to believe you.’
Carla had her back to Jo, standing directly in front of Ruby. Jo was invisible to the two sparring women. She hadn’t made any attempt to disguise her arrival but her footsteps on the deep pile carpet had been soft and quiet. She was about to make a subtle noise, a small cough or a clearing of the throat to announce her presence when some sixth sense kicked in. Instead she stood still and did nothing.
‘How many times!’ Carla almost screeched. ‘It was an accident! How was I to know that he wouldn’t move? He saw me coming, he had plenty of time; he could easily have got out of the way.’
‘But he didn’t,’ Ruby snarled back viciously. ‘And as a result I had to bury my son – and that’s something no mother should have to do.’
Jo had the sensation of being thumped in the chest. She couldn’t breathe properly. She couldn’t breathe at all. Bury my son, bury my son. And then, as the air eventually heaved its way out of her lungs, she stumbled forward a few steps.
Carla must have moved slightly too because Ruby suddenly came into Jo’s line of vision. She saw the old matriarch’s eyes widen with shock. It was a moment before Carla realised what was happening. She seemed to turn very slowly, as if in slow motion. On seeing who was there, her face filled with horror.
‘Oh God,’ Carla groaned lifting her hands to her mouth. ‘Oh God, oh no.’
Jo’s legs, although they were shaking, propelled her forward between the open doors and into the humid space of the conservatory. The words seemed to slice themselves out from the very depths of her throat. They were as fine as a razor blade and as sharply accusatory.
‘You … killed … Peter.’
‘No,’ Carla said, staring at her pleadingly. She started to shake her head. ‘It’s not what you think. It wasn’t like that. I didn’t … I didn’t mean …’
It’s not what you think. Wasn’t that what Deborah had said too? Jo began to shiver, an icy tremor that started with the chattering of her teeth and rapidly worked its way down to her toes. She could feel her whole body trembling. She wasn’t sure how much longer her legs would keep her upright.
Carla clutched wildly at her arm. ‘Oh Christ, Jo, listen to me. Listen to me. I didn’t … All I wanted to do was talk to him. I swear. I didn’t mean to …’
‘Get away from me!’ Jo said, roughly pushing the hand away. She couldn’t bear to be touched by her.
Carla staggered back. She slumped down on one of the bamboo chairs and buried her face in her hands. She started to cry, her broad shoulders lifting and falling, her heavy sobs echoing around the hot glass room.
‘You killed Peter,’ Jo said again. Her voice sounded weird, distorted, like somebody else’s.
Carla abruptly stopped crying and looked up. ‘It’s not … I never meant … it was an accident. You have to listen to me,’ she begged.
‘Like I listened to you after Peter died? Like I listened to all your sympathy, all your pity, all your kind words of encouragement?’ Jo stared down at Carla’s red, tear-stained cheeks. Her horror was rapidly transforming itself into the kind of anger she had never felt before. It was the one and only time in her life that she had actually felt capable of killing someone. Another quick breath burned its way out of her lungs. ‘You lied to me! You lied to me then and you’ve been lying ever since!’
‘That’s not true,’ Carla whimpered, shrinking back. For a moment she seemed completely submissive, almost pathetic, but then, like a cornered rat with nowhere left to go, she suddenly sat forward and bared her teeth. ‘No more than Peter did. He was the one screwing the slag, having it away while he preached right and wrong to everyone else. Mr Oh-so-righteous, Mr Morality.’
‘Carla!’ Ruby said warningly.
But it was too late. She was on the kind of roll that no one could stop. She glared at Jo. ‘Yeah, you were right. He was screwing the lovely Deborah, had been for years and you were the only one stupid enough not to realise it. All I wanted to do was to talk to him, to try and make him see sense. I mean, who did he think he was, telling us what we should or shouldn’t do with our money? As if we didn’t have enough bill
s to pay without supporting that Chinky bitch and her half-breed sprog. We didn’t owe her anything.’
Jo stood and stared at her.
Carla’s lips curled into a sly, cruel smile. ‘Peter wouldn’t stop going on about how we should all take responsibility for what had happened to her “poor” husband, how we should try to make amends. It was ten years and he was still banging on about it. As if we needed all that shit being raked up again! So I went to the shop. Then I followed him to Fairlea Avenue. You should have seen them, him and Deborah, all over each other before they even got inside. Your husband was a dirty little cheat, Jo.’
Jo already knew it. This was one revelation that wasn’t going to knock her off her feet. ‘Which was a good enough reason to kill him?’
Carla seemed to suddenly deflate, the bravado leaking out of her. ‘It was an accident. I only … I only meant to scare him.’
Jo leaned down and hissed into her face. Their noses were only inches away. ‘Tell it to the judge.’
Carla’s eyes darkened into fear. ‘You can’t …’
As Jo straightened up again, she saw Ruby staring at her. She wasn’t sure what she saw in her face; it was twisted and angry but maybe there was pain there too. Suddenly, afraid of her own growing rage, Jo knew she had to get out of the house. She turned and ran. She ran back through the living room, along the long hall and out through the front door.
She was vaguely aware of someone following her, someone hot on her heels, but she didn’t stop to look. It was only as she jumped into the car that she glanced over and saw Mrs Dark climbing into the passenger seat.
‘Get out,’ Jo demanded.
Mrs Dark, ignoring her, pulled the seatbelt across her narrow chest. ‘We need to talk.’
Jo slammed her hands down on the wheel. ‘Did you hear me? Get out of my car! Now!’
‘Do you want to know the truth,’ she said softly, ‘or do you just want to keep on running from it?’
As it happened, running still seemed a pretty inviting prospect. Jo didn’t want the weird woman anywhere near her but other than physically pushing her out couldn’t see what choice she had in the matter. Quickly, she turned the key in the ignition. Unwelcome passenger or not, she had to get away from the house. She took a right, drove too fast around the square, and then pulled into a side street. She kept the engine idling. ‘You can walk home from here.’
